Shippy's Marvel Movieverse Drabbles
by IShipItAllAndThenSome
Summary: The first eight are from a random word generator. I'm open to more prompts should you decide to submit them. Genres subject to change; content rating for references to death, murder, and PTSD, which basically everyone has coming out their perky butts.
1. Chapter 1: Box

**Random Word Generators are fun. I've got two more of these sitting on my laptop somewhere; I'll post them soon, I swear. In the meantime, enjoy these Avengers!verse drabbles.**

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_Box_

It took Tony sixteen months of tinkering and admitted stupidity to get partway over the fact that he had been dead for thirty seven seconds(JARVIS had counted), and even then, he wasn't at a hundred percent. Maybe thirty three. With one leg slung uncomfortably over the big, screaming hurdle of _holy shit, I was dead; I flew to another universe and then I was dead, _Tony finally remembered the files of S.H.I.E.L.D. information that he'd downloaded back in 2012.

He rolled upright in his empty bed, eyes bright and far too aware for three in the morning, and scrubbed a hand over his sleep-mussed hair as he called JARVIS up. "Hey, Jar, baby, show me my S.H.I.E.L.D. box."

At first, it was all relatively normal - assassinations of dictators, collection of assets, tax deductions, etcetera, etcetera.

Encrypted files started popping up, redacted paperwork, triple password protected folders. It wasn't really an obstacle, but it raised Tony's hackles, ground his teeth.

Red tentacles curled out of those files. Scarred stumps of old throats with willowy necks growing out of them like trees from burnt stumps, hundreds of wicked gleaming eyes peered at him like they knew exactly how huge he'd failed everyone this time.

He called everyone. _Everyone. _

Natasha, Clint, Phil, Hill, Fury, Steve.

Nobody picked up.

He turned on the TVs, lit up every web-connected device in the house, even used the eyes on the new suit he was halfway through constructing as projectors for reliable news sites.

What he saw was not good.

After hours of waiting - of reports that Steve, of all people, was a terrorist, or that Fury was HYDRA - real news came pouring in.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was dead. Fury was dead. Steve and Tasha were probably dead. Everyone else was off the grid.

Tony's eyes ached; blinking meant closing them, and that meant seeing his team, his friends, his fucking family, with clean beveled bullet holes piercing their skulls, their throats.

He'd been the Merchant of Death. He knew what it looked like when professionals dealt it out.

Two weeks later, Maria Hill showed up for an interview under the alias Meredith Hearst, and he asked Pepper to give her the job on the spot. When she stepped out of his elevator ten minutes later (he likes tall buildings), it was very, very hard not to hug her.

Still, Tony wished he had never opened that box.

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**More upcoming, very shortly. **


	2. Chapter 2: Nest

**I told you there was more upcoming. I. Told. You.**

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_Nest_

Clint had no idea Natasha was alive until he woke up in bed next to Phil with the shower running. He padded into the bathroom and a grin split his face wide open.

She smelled like his marjoram shampoo and Phil's scentless body wash and she was warm and solid through the terrycloth of his towel when he hugged her.

"Are you okay?"

She was more bruise than unmarked skin, and the joints of her left leg were all swollen and plum-coloured, but she stood on her own too feet and hugged him back so hard his spine crackled. Natasha could handle pain. Clint knew that.

But S.H.I.E.L.D. was as close to a home as Natasha had ever let herself get. S.H.I.E.L.D. had been her saviour, her commander, her love, her world. S.H.I.E.L.D. had put her straight, given her a directive, handed her a mop when the red in her ledger spilled out across the floor. With S.H.I.E.L.D., she'd saved people who once would have been her mark. She'd served under them for twenty-nine years. Natasha Romanov only existed if S.H.I.E.L.D. did.

Twenty-nine years of being a person, of lives saved, and all along, she'd still been working for the bad guys. None of it counted.

So Clint asked her if she was okay.

"I need to lie low for a little while," she answered, biting the inside of her lip just enough to remind her that she existed, no orders necessary. "You and Phil's little nest has always been notoriously... safe."

_Please. Please let me stay._

"We have plenty of room. Stay as long as you like."

_You always have a home here._

Clint left her to dry off with a kiss on the forehead, and if she clad herself in his sweatpants and Phil's undershirt before curling up in their bed, that was just fine.

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**This would have been up sooner if my computer weren't such a tit. Also, I will be updating Tug tomorrow, come hell or high water. Unless the high water cuts my internet. Then I'm super screwed. **


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